


LES COQUELICOTS ☆ CHANGLIX

by CORRUPTLY



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Artist AU, M/M, felix speaks poetically, many art references, painter!changbin, pretty boy felix, slowburn, story up for interpretation (:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CORRUPTLY/pseuds/CORRUPTLY
Summary: the boy's hands were incredibly warm and soft to the touch. it was as if he held early summer inside of him even at the beginning of spring. changbin's eyes began to roam wild over the boy's features.auburn. peach. ginger. marmalade. buttermilk. apricot. his eyes took in sharp glances, observing, then moving to the next shade. the boy was a living pallet of warm tones.
Relationships: Lee Felix/Seo Changbin
Kudos: 1





	LES COQUELICOTS ☆ CHANGLIX

**Author's Note:**

> SPOTIFY PLAYLIST  
> @YCNGBOK  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7p8KMziKys5oKaMNme1Iuo?si=towQBhVzSR2xZmbx92QYvw

oils lay on the bedspread in a jumble of warms, colds, and anything in-between. an array of pigments gloss over harsh, tan skin as panicked fingers dance briskly across the blank canvas. a rush of energy is all he needs to declare this moment a _revelation_ to finally begin filling up that god-awful emptiness that's been screaming at him for weeks.

it had been a long time since seo changbin had gotten a spark of inspiration. picking up his worn down - by love - brushes never quite buzzed him with that excitement he used to get before. it was as if all motivation had been ripped from his pleading grasp after he had abandoned the watercolor poppy he had begun painting months back; only to end up slathering white gesso over it.

it was a blue poppy. the ones that bloomed in the comfort of the himalayan mountains and cool weather. he disfavored the warm seasons. maybe he was envious of the warmth, thus finding himself gravitating towards the cold.

_who cares though. he never liked flowers that much anyways._

there wasn't much excitement this time though. it was more like rapid waves pulling him in with rough tides and salt prickling his skin. it wasn't a bad feeling, but it wasn't quite good either. maybe his brain had finally done enough of self-pitying and decided it was time to do something with himself again. rummaging through acrylics, oils, and watercolors, an internal battle of which medium to use was one of the many thoughts swimming through changbin's head. he was never one to be able to easily sort out his thoughts. maybe that was just one of the reasons being able to express himself artistically worked out for him.

the frantic male ends up with watercolor tubes in his arms, dumping them onto the wooden desk beside his easel. hazelnut irises begin racing over different objects in his bedroom, refusing to lock eyes with the white abyss beckoning him in.

 _'you've finally answered my prayers'_ it says, _'after weeks of yearning to be rid of this emptiness'_

changbin sighs while finally locking gazes with the soon-to-be composition. _since when were canvases so demanding and dramatic?_

he closes his eyes for a minute or two, inhales, and brings his brush to meet the canvas.

it wasn't ever really clear to him what his goal was towards this painting. all he knew was that his fingers had made their way towards the admiral blue; the shade he had used for the now gessoed over poppy.

quite frankly, the only time he had ever used warm colors was when he was a kid. he was never fond of warm colors, residing to his usual cool ones instead.

rapid strokes turn to soft, feathered strokes of sweet berry and indigo. he lets the pigment flow as it pleases. maybe that's the beauty of watercolor. embracing nature instead of fighting it. changbin finds himself wondering if he really was the one in control of this composition. he had always felt so in control with his acrylics and oils but the constant mysterious flow of watercolor has bewildered him.

maybe he doesn't need to be in such critical control every time. maybe this time he needed to let go. yes. maybe that's it.

it takes the male a hot second to realize he had been holding his breath, so he exhales with a panicky sigh and lets his vision fade to his surrealist fantasies as he slowly closes his eyes. it feels nice to not worry about the finished product, to just relish in the back and forth back and forth motions of his wrist. he runs his fingers against the tip of his angled brush and flicks it. his ears tingle at the sound of the small pitter-patter of softly pigmented droplets as they hit the canvas. sure, he had used this method in previous paintings of his but never with his eyes closed so carelessly.

_what if he's just messed the entire thing up?_

_..what was this thing?_

_was it a thing?_

he clicks his tongue at his vexing little voices knocking around in his head and makes the attempt to get rid of them for a bit. _maybe if he shakes his head hard enough they'll come tumbling out of his ears._

he blindly reaches for a different color on his pallet.

_what if it was another damned flower? what made flowers so damn special anyway?_

his pace quickens in a different stroke pattern than before.

_he really needs to get out more._

an hour passes. forty more minutes pass. maybe fifty. _who knows? he's not counting._

his wrist comes to an abrupt stop in its' aching triumph, letting his grasp loosen on whatever brush he was currently holding. he opens his eyes to his hand which was now covered in splotches of lapis, aegean, sapphire, and other unintelligible colors and shades. he turns to grab the nearest damp rag and

_oh._  
  


_this definitely wasn't a flower._  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i've had the ideas for this plot scattered in my notebook for four years now. i write my emotions through changbin occasionally, as he experiences the demotivation i do. i'm glad i am finally making an effort to put this story out somewhere and to start up writing again.  
> if anyone happens to read this, i seriously appreciate it. thank you.


End file.
